


Bring it Home

by Bramblepelt



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: It's gonna escalate from here friends, Masturbation, Other, gender neutral reader
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-03-12
Updated: 2018-03-16
Packaged: 2019-03-30 12:54:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,171
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13951983
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bramblepelt/pseuds/Bramblepelt
Summary: All you wanted was to return to a job that meant something to you and do it really well and maybe eat some pasta, but your ex-boyfriend also just had to be there and ruin everything.





	1. Future You's Problem

**Author's Note:**

> Hey friendos, this is my first stab at a reader POV fic. I thoroughly enjoy the concept as a genre, and put special care into making our poor protagonist gender neutral for maximum immersion. Please feel free to let me know if I dinged that up somewhere!

You weren’t the first one to return to what someone could loosely refer to as the new Overwatch. In fact you were far down the list, not even in the initial recall. You, and others in your paygrade, were an afterthought that only came to mind when the front and center heroes remembered just how much they despised the paperwork.

Ana insisted on recruiting you specifically. Ana! You had no idea she even knew your name. Or that ghosts would be in need of clerical assistance. You would later find out that Captain Amari did not actually know your name, but gave a vague description of your appearance and temperament and others filled in the blanks from there. But what else was new? You had always been a background character in the immense story full of charismatic and talented players. There was no glory for the pencil pusher who made sure everyone’s paychecks were mailed on time, that uniforms were ordered in appropriate bulk and sizes from reputable vendors, and spent many hours staring at spreadsheets making sure public funds were being utilized for appropriate business purposes. (Business purposes in a global military organization was much more loosely defined than your Accounting 5100 textbook would categorize it).

Still, you didn’t mind most of the time. You knew how important your work was, even if the gun toting super heroes had no appreciation of the importance of proper meeting minutes. Or meetings in general.Or some basic ideas of communication outside of the battlefield. You did, and for years you had helped keep Overwatch afloat until immense powers that were out of your hands sank it.

Six years in a dull public office job later, you realized how much you had missed the background noise of training soldiers, bickering officers, and an array of different languages you couldn’t understand. A simple message requesting your return to an illegal organization being formed ‘underground’ at a defunct military base by past members who served maybe one or two years had found its way to your desk. A steady paycheck in a safe office with a comfortable apartment with only your pet succulents to worry about, or war with an international terrorist ring?

As the old saying went, you only live once.

You reported for duty, just like old times. You were greeted by two rookies, the giant talking gorilla and the girl who could leap through time. Not exactly the highest on the old ranking ladder yet here they were. You couldn’t remember their names off the top of your head, but you could remember their birthdays. You had your priorities in your position and damn if you weren't good at them.

The base was already swimming with activity, which came as a surprise to you. It was only then you realized how long it took them to consider you as essential personnel. You didn’t take it personally. You were just happy to be back in the trenches, supporting a good cause, among familiar faces.

Back at your makeshift desk, in a very cramped office that doubled as your room, you ended up staring into the very photogenic eyes of a face you were prepared to never see again. Shit. Was he here? Already? He was more than happy to just leave before, why would he be coming back now? For some reason you just did not expect to see his name in these personnel files. Opening the file flap to this sight after hours of flipping through papers was jarring. Even the many, many ‘presumed dead’ agents included in the ‘very much alive it turns out’ roster hadn’t shaken you up quite as much as this did.

You were over it. You’d moved on. But the wounds that felt so long ago they were little but faded scars suddenly felt so fresh and warm. You had moved on. That pain was over. But your stomach felt like it was submerged in the same bucket of ice water your head was swimming in.

“Jesse McFuckingCree.” you whispered. The photograph attached to his file was old. No doubt he would look very different today if he were here. This photo was the face of a man in his early 20s who always wore cheap cologne that had too much bergamot and leather. A man who smoked too much, would go days without shaving or washing his hair, and always had a smartass comment to end a conversation with his superiors.

This was a man who was unapologetically late to drills, tipped his stupid cowboy hat when passing anyone in the halls, and made a weird squeaking noise in his throat when one agent brought her puppy to work and let him pet it.

A man who had learned to take his annual evaluation seriously and started handing them in early because he knew you’d be less busy then and he could linger and ask you about your da-fuckfuck _fuckfuck_

You threw the file to the side and tried your damndest to get back to work. You’d deal with categorizing that one later, maybe even with a very tall glass of scotch to go with it. But try as you might to concentrate on categorizing and alphabetizing these paper files (digital versions were too risky until further notice) your mind kept trying to dart back to a blur of memories you did not want to have.

_A warm hand on your back, that crooked grin when he knew he’d made you laugh, the rough feeling of beard stubble on your neck tempered by sweet soft-_

“I need to eat.” You announced to no one, standing up very quickly and making your way to the mess hall.

Or what passed for it. Compared to the seemingly limitless budget provided by the U.N. in Overwatch’s heyday, making do felt like a camping trip gone horribly wrong. Shining floors, perfectly staged tables and surprisingly comfortable plastic chairs were instead a hard concrete floor with picnic tables strewn about. Whatever nice tables had been left were reappropriated for office space. You smiled at the Chef-who yes had been recruited back before you-and scanned the chalkboard list of the day’s offerings. You held up two fingers to indicate you’d like the #2, pasta du jour. Chef shook her head and clicked her tongue while complaining in a language you weren’t exactly fluent in. Her tone gave away everything though, you didn’t need be bilingual to understand she was less than happy about what she had to throw together to make this work. She looked embarrassed while handing you the platter and waving you away. Maybe this was less than ideal for her, but a warm lovingly cooked meal was heaven for you. Chef always knew how to make do, and you can’t really be offended that they called her back first.

You took a seat at an empty table, hoping to avoid small talk with co-workers you either couldn’t remember enough about to carry on conversation or were fresh faced and ready to ramble your ear off. You just needed some background chatter to focus yourself back into the present. The mess hall was perfect for that purpose right now, much like back at the old base. You would come during off hours to sit alone and enjoy the white noise of idle background conversation and humming kitchen equipment. You almost felt nostalgically comfortable again.The pasta, while not exactly brimming with fresh vegetables and a balanced taste profile, was cooked perfectly and was more than delicious enough. Chef did it again.

_“The pasta again, huh? You oughta try the pulled pork sometime, Chef does surprising justice considering I doubt she’s even set foot in Texas much less tasted real barbeque. I’m more of a Carolina style man myself but she really adds her own touch that just sells it.”_

Fuck this. Fuck him. Fuck this delicious pasta. You just want to do your job and eat your food and not think about stupid asshole ex boyfriends who broke your heart and did exactly what everyone warned you he’d do. Furthermore you’d love to go just five minutes without smelling that whiskey-leather-smoke smell that used to give you Pavlov like reactions not appropriately discussed in polite company. Even though it was in your head it was overpowering the scent of roasted tomatoes and garlic. It was overwhelming.

It wasn’t in your head.

Your eyes remained firmly glued to the penne noodle dangling precariously from the plastic fork tines. There’s that bucket of ice water feeling washing over you again as you see the glint of light shining off a metallic hand that was laying just a foot or so away from your own fleshy hand tightly gripping your eating utensil.

Why hadn’t you prepared yourself for this? You should have known better, damn that brain of yours that so easily compartmentalized stress and anxiety. That was future yous problem until it wasn’t anymore. You’d probably never learn. And now present you’s problem was right there and you couldn’t think of a single thing to do or say. Only the very gentle motion of the noodle slipping back into the paper bowl was grounding you. The hand next to yours clenched and unclenched slowly and you knew what was coming next.

“So uh, this seat taken?”  
He sounds the same. He sounds exactly the god damn same which was somewhat of a surprise considering his distinct aroma that told of a continued habit that certainly should’ve made him sounds maybe, you don’t know, just a little less inviting? Maybe? Another one of Dr. Ziegler’s miracles, no doubt. Thanks, doc.

“Because if it’s not-” the figure in your peripheral was moving to sit next to you and that anxious instinct kicked in giving you the only response that could possibly be appropriate right now.

“Nope!” you yelped, jumped up, eyes forward, abandoning your precious pasta primavera and creating probably more of a scene than if you’d done….anything else. In the world of fight or flight, you would always pick flight. That’s why you sat at a desk and coordinated training schedules while others shot pistols at murderous robots. You didn’t look back, you were far too embarrassed. It’s been years why are you acting like a ridiculous teenager in the middle of high school drama, why can’t you just look him in the eye and tell him to leave you alone or really dig into how he hurt you or climb onto that lap and-

“NOPE” again, yelling at no one in your office room. Ensuring the door was securely locked you planted yourself face down on your bed and tried not to think about how much worse you just made this stupid, stupid situation. A few moments of deep breathing exercises later you lifted your face off the pillow to see- that face again. Damnit all, you just had to throw that file out of order didn’t you? His face was still there and his scent was hovering around your senses, and for fucks sake the space between your legs was demanding your immediate attention **this instant**.

“Fine,” you thought to yourself “maybe I can think clearly then.” You unbuckled the black pleather belt and shimmied your pants down to your knees, taking undergarments with them. Your right hand immediately went to work where the need was urgent, you left arm covering your eyes to better focus in on any sort of imagery that could get this over with the fastest. You decided to stop fighting the longing and let yourself remember that one really, really good night you had together after your birthday. He had actually tried really hard to make it a special day for you, he even wore a clean button up shirt GOD he was so handsome even when he wasn’t trying, it wasn’t fair, but when he did-

You pick up the pace remembering the feeling of his mouth on you, all over you, how he worked his tongue and those rough fingers just right-

Almost there, almost there, come on _bring it home_

You remember what felt like an eternity of foreplay ending with him sliding inside of you effortlessly like he belonged there and-

Your left hand clapped over your mouth to stifle a whimper best you could as the world came crashing around you for a brief delicious moment.  
God it really had been too long. You laid there in a mess, pants further down than where they’d started, trying not to think too hard about the walk you were going to have to make down the hall to the nearest restroom. Future you’s problem. Right now you felt calm, like you had finally released a tangible built up block that was weighing down your sense and judgement. You could handle this now. You could face him like an adult, like a coworker, professionally, and set boundaries. This was fine. You exhaled deeply into a sense of beautiful satisfaction that you had your life back under control.

Your eyes snapped back open in a panic when you heard the digital lock on your door click open.


	2. Present You's Problem

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There's really only one way to resolve this problem but you'll be damned if you do it of your own volition.

The door was certainly opening. You panicked and threw the thin blanket over your body best you could, rolling to face away from the door and almost crashing your nose into the wall. 

 

“Agent? What are you doing in bed?” The disapproving mother voice of Captain Amari filled your burning hot ears. “It’s far from quitting time.”

 

Shit. Right. You were, technically, still ‘clocked in’. One of many reasons having an office space shared with your bedroom was a pain: your bosses could and would drop in on you unannounced. Normally this was a mere inconvenience as it just meant a new priority assignment over the last one was going to keep you tethered to your desk. The one time you actually needed some privacy, though, of course this would happen.

 

Ana was always overly motherly to her direct crew, but to the rest of the team she had been more of a distant auntie who checked in on you when she sensed trouble but otherwise couldn’t so much as remember your name. The fact that she referred to you as simply ‘Agent’ reinforced this quirk. 

 

“I….wasn’t feeling very good…” you tried to sound convincingly weak. “I had to lie down.” 

 

“Oh not you too. I would almost think Chef was a secret Talon operative, what with how many of the crew she’s taking down with Fish Friday.” Ana sounded like she was more genuinely suspicious than joking. “Anyway, there’s going to be an all hands on deck meeting in two hours. I wanted to make sure everyone was aware. It’s mandatory, go see Dr. Ziegler if you need some Pepto, she’s in clinics right now.”

 

You made a sound of acknowledgement and stayed frozen still until you heard the door slide back shut. Peeking over your shoulder, just in case, you found yourself gratefully alone. Maybe once the constant strike missions and recruitment blitz had settled down you’d approach your superiors about perhaps installing a knock first policy. 

 

You managed to make your way unnoticed to the washrooms and took a quick shower you desperately needed anyway. Trying to get your mind onto anything at all that wasn’t a stupid handsome ex boyfriend, you went through a quick checklist of completed projects you could drop off at the head office on your way to the meeting. 

 

The meeting. 

 

That everyone had to attend.

 

Fuck.

 

Standing under the water that was quickly cooling down you planned out your strategy. He was notoriously late. For everything. Ok. If you just got there early, you could find a seat close up front. Space here was cramped no matter what so it would fill up quickly. There would be rows of people between you and that shaggy son of a bitch and you could buy yourself at least a little more time before having to really unpack your baggage on his face. You noticed the shower had long since become uncomfortable and scrambled to wash the rest of the product out of your hair.

 

_ “So that’s you secret? Lavender scented conditioner.” _

 

_ “What do you mean secret? Did you think I naturally smelled like lavender?” _

 

_ “Maybe. You surprise me in all sorts of ways, pumpkin.” _

 

Why did you have a very good sweet memory for every situation? This was unfair. Those showers together were so nice though. His fingers massaging your scalp, the sound he made when you scrubbed his back, how unnaturally perfect he looked with water making his muscles seemingly shine, the way he’d intentionally let his fingers linger over the most sensitive spots. You had gone so long without thinking of him and now it was all you could focus on. So long. You hadn’t gotten laid in so long. Maybe, just maybe, this was your brain telling you it was time to face your past and do what you had to in order to move on?

 

Don’t be ridiculous. We bury our uncomfortable feelings like true military professionals.

 

You made your way to the space designated for large meetings like this, dropping off medical history forms for Dr. Ziegler (who seemed to be a bit overrun with patients) and a stack of approved equipment requisitions to the inventory manager. You hair was still damp and your uniform was wrinkled but you were determined to see your plan to fruition. 

 

The rows of identical folding chairs were quickly filling up. You found a space near the front securely seated between a rather enthusiastically chatty young man and a very disinterested girl typing on her phone at a speed that seemed inhuman. (You didn’t mean to peak but there was an impressive amount of emotes involved in whatever she was writing). You finally let yourself breathe a sigh of relief. Until you remembered you also needed an exit plan.

 

Your very tired racing thoughts were interrupted by a middle aged man stepping up to the front and beginning a list of ‘agenda items’. A reminder to conserve resources including water, to turn in soiled linens to the appropriate location rather than leaving them on your floor, and so on and so forth. It was almost funny how little had changed between the well oiled machine from years ago to the small disorganized mess you were a part of today. Peace, war, counterterrorism task force: People still had to be reminded to log out of their accounts when using the communal terminals.

 

“And finally before we move on to our main topic, Dr. Ziegler would like to request that everyone stop eating the fish. Some things are beyond even Chef’s abilities, and this is a clear example. Please don’t write down that pa- oh.”

 

A single angry grunt came from the back of the room. You had a feeling there would be more fish on tomorrow’s menu.

 

While the speaker began to continue, you became acutely aware of the sound of shuffling in the row behind you, a quite ‘pardon me’ and that goddamn smoke-whiskey smell again. You felt a warmth softly press against your shoulder. A bit of hair brush against the back of your neck. You didn’t have to move to know he was sitting behind you and leaning in to say something. Which was fine because you were again frozen solid anyway. 

 

“I’d really like to have a talk when this is over.”

 

_ Well fuck me since when did he become the mature one _ . You felt like slinking to the floor and hiding. Running away again. Yelling ‘fire’ or inciting a riot over the quality of toilet paper. Something, anything to avoid doing the adult mature thing. This was it though. It was going to be awkward and painful but it was time to acknowledge and face your pain and get it over with. Before you can whisper back an affirmation you’re jarred back into your surroundings by Captain Amari yelling directly at you.

 

“Agent! You look like death itself, did you see Dr. Ziegler like I told you to?” The man making announcements next to Ana made a face of pure frustration. He too seemingly just wanted to be done with whatever it was he had to do. “Look at you feverish and sweating, your hair is all wet! You should get to the clinic immediately. Can someone-”

 

“I got this.” McCree interrupted, sliding his hand under your arm and helping you stand up. “I wasn’t gonna be paying attention much anyway.” he smirked. The speaker crossed his arms and waited for the scene that you wished you weren’t co-starring in to end.

 

“You don’t actually have to help me, I didn’t eat the fish.” you finally said once you were a few feet down the hallway. You pulled your arm back to your side and picked up the walking pace a bit. “I’m not sick, I’m just having….” An interesting day.

 

“A bad day.” he filled in the thought. Whether or not it was intentional, he matched his pace back with yours again. “Kinda figured finally seeing my face might do that to ya.” It was at this point you realized you had yet to actually look him in the face. So you held your breath and looked over. 

 

It was amazing what only a handful of years could do to a person. He needed a haircut and a shave, badly. Or maybe not. He was certainly much scruffier than you remembered. That wasn’t necessarily a bad thing. Eyes were bloodshot and tired looking. His skin was very sun touched, or maybe it was from the smoking, regardless there were a few lines here and there where before there were none. His eyes had moved over to yours, possibly taking the same sort of inventory on you. You felt incredibly self conscious. Your face was getting warm again and you could feel your gut twisting up. He was still as well built as ever, from what you could see, and that metal prosthetic desperately needed a polishing or deep cleaning or something, it looked so dusty and worn compared to how it looked when he first got it. 

 

~~~

 

“It’s very shiny.” you said, leaning your chin on his shoulder. His new arm was reflecting light from the window and he huffed. 

 

“That’ll give me away right quick, better tone that down a notch or two.” he stretched it out in front of him. “And a little flair wouldn’t hurt it either.” You let out a quiet laugh. Knowing him it would be anything but little, and also very gaudy but completely him. He could do whatever he wanted with his new limb, carve the declaration of independence in it for all you cared, you were still just relieved he was here. Alive. Okay. 

 

You knew what’d you gotten into when you became involved with an active field agent. But that didn’t stop the panic that came with knowing he had come very, very close to bleeding out this time. The cold fear from seeing him in the ICU bed bed, hooked up to a mess of sterile equipment, tubes, and wires. The realization that his entire job was getting into situations like this was a very sobering moment for you. You realized you were going to have to make peace with the idea that any time he was sent out it might be the last time.

 

“So are we breaking this in now or what?” he asked. Your face went blank in confusion. “You know,” he said moving his shiny hand into a gesture that would get him slapped in public. “Wanna see how it feels?” You somehow were not expecting this despite knowing him so well at this point. You choked out a surprised ‘yes!’ and moved to start stripping. The mood had been so dour and tense for weeks, falling back onto his bed with his smiling face right over yours felt like heaven.

 

You gasped when he ran both hands up your naked sides and over your chest. One side was definitely colder than other. It was smooth though, you were bracing for some pinching but found it wasn’t so different from a hand of flesh. Modern engineering was very convenient.

 

“Good?” he asked, running his lips down your stomach towards your waist. 

 

“God yes.” you moaned as his tongue traced lines across your pelvic bone. You felt his hands sliding down your body and gently resting on your thighs. His mouth was over you. He was so fucking good at giving head that you had become fully aroused just knowing that’s where he was going, and now his tongue was sliding exactly where he knew you needed it and building pressure exactly where you wanted.

 

You were so focused on that ridiculously skilled tongue, you’d forgotten the entire reason you’d even gotten started. Until you felt the smooth, cold digit pushing against you. You groaned for a moment at the expectation, gripping one hand in his hair and pointing harshly towards the bed stand with the other. 

 

“I know, I didn’t forget.” he landed one more kiss in that perfect spot that made your hips jerk up for more before sitting back on his heels. “Just wanted to tease you a bit.” he chuckled while ridding himself of his own clothing. He picked up the bottle of lubricant you had been silently gesturing towards. The smell of the contents was so linked in your mind to being tangled up with him that just opening it created a small fire in your abdomen.

 

Expectations were realized as his finger slid back into place where you were craving it most, prodding deeper now. It had been awhile since the last time and he was going to make sure you were ready. A second finger slowly joined the first and together they moved in and out. He removed his mouth from your skin to catch your eyes gazing down on him.

 

“How’s it feel?” he asked. You had been so caught up in what his mouth was doing you hadn’t bothered to evaluate the other sensation. It was good, but different. Flesh had some give to it, some shared warmth that felt like a melding together. This was more like one of those items you’d buy at a shady store with vintage neon signs late at night. The type of thing that was created just to fill you up the right way. Before you could give a coherent answer his finger found a spot inside of you that made your head tilt back in a shock of pleasure.

 

“Sex toy” was what gracelessly fell out of your mouth instead.

 

“Finally, my true calling in life.” he laughed while removing his hand. The smooth metal was replaced by the feeling of his hard flesh pushing against you. “God I want you so bad.” You groaned in agreement and wrapped your arms around his shoulders, bringing his face to yours. You took the lead of pushing your lips together and meeting his tongue with your own. Your head was swimming with the taste of bourbon and the smell of gunpowder that lingered in his hair. 

 

The feeling of his cock filling you made you gasp into his mouth. He was here, with you, alive, okay, you were together, it was okay, his left hand cradled your face while his right hand moved between your legs. He must’ve already been close himself, it really had been awhile. His breathing picked up while his strokes became shorter, faster, you felt a wetness trickle onto your cheek. Before you could gather the source your eyes shut tight and your mouth dropped open in a silent gasp. He pulled your body as close to his as he could, taking a sharp breath. You dug your fingers into his back as you rode out every wave of sweet pleasure, feeling him pulsing inside of you.

 

He spent a few minutes breathing, holding you, his forehead resting on yours. He opened his eyes to scan yours. There was something there you hadn’t seen before. Fear. Concern. For what? You were here, together, it was okay. Alive.

 

“I ain’t goin nowhere.” he whispered.

 

“I know.”

 

~~~

 

There were so many good times. There had been so many moments of passion, or gentleness, connection. You remembered how the others who worked in your office had warned you he was that type of guy. You had dismissed them and carried on with your beautiful moments. Until he proved them right. But now he was here, and he had answers, and you deserved them. You took a deep breath.

 

“Now, I know what you-” he started.

 

“Why did you leave me?” you asked. He looked taken aback. Somehow, this was not the conversation starter he had expected. His eyes darted from yours and tried to find something else to focus on. He was clearly in a state of panic. Which just boiled your frustration over completely. “If this isn’t what yo-”

 

The tension was cut when the door you hadn’t realized you were standing in front of slid open. A young man stepped out looking like the walking dead. He muttered an ‘excuse me’ before walking past them towards the dormitories. A woman’s very loud sigh came from inside the room, followed by the source herself.

 

Dr. Ziegler stood in the doorway, looked you up and down, and pointed her thumb behind her shoulder.

 

“You’re lucky, I have just enough time before debriefings for one more patient.” she smiled, trying to will more energy than she was at all capable of. You felt Jesse’s hands grip your shoulders from behind as he pushed you towards the clinic.

 

“Oh Angela, thank heaven, our friend here just couldn’t help but order that sweet Fish special. And now look- flushed, feverish, and sweating to death. Is there anything you can do, doc?” he put on a show while Angela rolled her eyes playfully. He was stalling. He was actually trying to pass you off onto the doctor. Now it was his turn to feel overwhelmed about  _ discussing emotions _ .

  
“If I couldn’t handle something silly like a small outbreak of listeria, I wouldn’t be here McCree.” she said. “Now get back to your work, and let me do mine.” Dr. Ziegler guided you back as the door shut between you and Jesse. She took your temperature and blood pressure, found them both to be a little high ( _ you just couldn’t imagine why _ !) and after a checklist of questions prescribed you three days of bedrest and a lot of water. “And inform me immediately if your symptoms worsen or last longer than three days.” she sent you back into the hall with a note dismissing you from duty. You thanked her and made your way back to your very well earned and precious solitude. You knew the source of your problem was going to last much longer than three days.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I set up a twitter @BramblepeltAO3 if you wanna chat about some cowboy junk ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡ -)


End file.
